The Steel Rose
by Kumarahaz
Summary: Polgara and Durnik centered oneshots. Enjoy.
1. The Wrath of Polgara

"Why can't she just stop already?" King Anheg groaned. Thunder and hail had settled over Riva for a full day now, and the explosions in Polgara's quarters almost made the very Citadel rattle. "Shouldn't she get tired some time soon? I know I am! No one in Riva will be able to sleep in this ruckus!"

Barak who was standing by an open fire with Durnik the smith raised his tankard. "Drink yourself to sleep, cousin. That's what I'm attempting to do."

"She has to be stopped," the king said firmly.

"Why don't _you_ go tell her that?" Barak chuckled and took a deep gulp of beer.

Anheg glared at his cousin. "See, this is what happens when women get powers like that. It's not good for anyone! Unnatural is what it is."

Durnik's grip on his tankard tightened at the king's words. "She's not hurting anyone, which is more than you can say about a drunk Alorn man who goes out to drink and fight after bad news." He winced as another explosion shook the halls. "She will probably calm down when she has to sleep," he said in a low voice. "I think what she does tires her more than anything else would."

"You!" Anheg said and pointed to the smith. "_You_ should go to her!"

Durnik shook his head. "I think Mis... Polgara has made it clear that she wants to be left alone. And it would not be decent of me to barge into her private quarters like that."

"And I've made it clear I want her to stop," Anheg said. "I'm a king, Goodman Durnik."

"You're not _my_ king!" He regretted these words as soon as they left his lips. Was that a way to talk to a king, anyone's king?

Anheg drew himself up and straightened his crown on his head. Durnik swallowed hard and looked away.

Before he knew it he was escorted through the dark hallways of the citadel by Anheg and Barak, towards the source of the shattering thunder and explosions. His own pulse pounding in his ears nearly drowned it out, though, and he felt lightheaded and detached, as if it was not for real. Just a dream.

Barak opened the door and Anheg pushed Durnik inside, closing it shut behind him. The smith remained in the darkness of the antechamber for a while, trying to calm himself down, but here in the eye of the storm that was impossible. All candles had gone out, and the only light came from the lightnings and fireballs in the other room. The air was thick with smoke and dust and he breathed carefully to avoid coughing.

This was not Mistress Pol. This was Polgara, the mighty sorceress. Mistress Pol would not hurt him, but what about Polgara? If he had not been so terrified, her language alone would have made him blush and want to escape. He forced himself to move forward instead, and he was still just as good at sneaking as usual at least.

Shaking uncontrollably, Durnik entered the room. Polgara was facing the windows, with her back to him, and let down another hailstorm on Riva. He could not speak to her. His throat was parched and his mouth too dry to alleviate it through swallowing.

Then there was a hissing noise, and an unimaginable pain, and last thing he heard before he crashed into the wall and blacked out was Polgara screaming.

"You idiot, what were you doing in here?" Durnik was slowly regaining consciousness, felt soft hands on his aching head. It was too dark to see anything. "Wake up, damn you!" Polgara? She shook his head lightly, but it was enough to make him moan in pain.

With a low cry, she stopped shaking him. "Oh gods, Durnik! I'm so sorry, please..." Suddenly he felt her warm breath on his face and soft lips on his own, which parted automatically. Then, just as suddenly, she withdrew and left him wondering if the short moment of bliss had just been his still confused mind playing tricks.

Polgara was standing a good distance away from him when a flickering torch appeared on the wall. Her eyes were blazing. "What are you doing in here?" she inquired in a harsh voice, very unlike her cries just a moment ago. Maybe that part had never happened, though. Durnik was becoming less and less convinced of it.

Durnik managed to get up on his feet again, bracing himself against the wall. "I knew it was a bad idea, but I couldn't stand up against Anheg. I'm sorry, Polgara." He looked down in shame. "I will leave you alone now."

She folded her arms over her chest. "Good."

He nodded and walked toward the door on unsteady steps.

"Oh, and Durnik. Please keep an eye on Ce'Nedra while I'm... occupied with this matter."

"Of course. Goodnight, Polgara."

As Durnik walked down the sparsely lit hallways to his own room he touched his lips in wonder. It must have been his imagination, surely. Mistress Pol would not just kiss him like that.

But maybe Polgara would?


	2. Plucking Time

"You want to look your best on our wedding, don't you?"

How could Durnik protest against that? He really would do anything to make Polgara happy. Anything. Surely it could not be worse than anything else he had endured in his life and women apparently did it all the time so he could expect no pity.

He gave her a nod and sat down beside her.

"Just don't make me look like a lady."

"I don't think that is possible, love." She inspected his face carefully, running a finger lightly over his brow. At first probing, then plotting. They were so close he could feel her warm breath, which carried a scent of floral tea. He wanted to lean in and close the distance between their lips, but now was not the time for that.

"Yes, that will do," she said finally and patted her knee. "Lie down and put your head here. It is the best working position."

In place, he closed his eyes when she reached for the tweezers. It was a strange mix of pleasure and pain as her left hand brushed over his skin gently and the right pulled out hairs one by one. Some caused him no pain, others a lot, and he could never quite predict what was coming next.

The trial was over and Durnik sat up straight, looking into Polgara's hand mirror. The smith nodded in approval, having to admit that there was an improvement. He raised his now well groomed eyebrow at his bride.

"I don't have to wear that frippery, do I?" He was referring to the velvet outfit that King Fulrach had given him and Garion for what seemed like an eternity ago.

"No, you don't." She laughed and took his hand.


End file.
